Surprise!
by LookAgain
Summary: Sherlock wants to finally give John a hug. They did just become an official couple- or did they? Fluffy, slightly angsty Johnlock using all the best little nuggets from different episodes. Read as post S4, but it honestly doesn't matter.


Sherlock eased open the door of their flat, intent on surprising John, who he could hear humming and puttering about in the kitchen.

As he slinked with catlike grace towards John, who was currently chopping something, with his back turned to the door, completely unawares, Sherlock smiled with the memory of the previous night's much-awaited conversation.

 _"...and therefore, John, I see it fit that we be together romantically, physically, and whatever other way there is possible. I want it, and you haven't objected, so I'm assuming we're on the same page? Yes. Partners in every sense of the word."_

 _Hearing no response, Sherlock took it as he took all silence, as stunned appreciation of his genius, and went back to his experiment, satisfied that he was now able to do all those delicious things to John that he had wanted to do for so long._

 _He really wanted to devour John right then, but decided that maybe if John was really so shocked by his pointing out the obvious, Sherlock would give him some time to understand (he took longer than Sherlock to process things, obviously), and then jump his bones. After all, even he was surprised- he'd expected some oppositions, maybe an "I'm not gay!" or a "What the hell, Sherlock?!" It was almost too good to be true, how quickly he had gotten John. But he wasn't going to complain._

Sherlock stepped up behind a still-oblivious John. He breathed out a silent sigh of excitement, and then all of a sudden snaked his arms around the shorter man's waist, rested his head on top of John's (he had to lean down a bit), and _squeezed_ as tight as he could. He poured years of pent up affection in that one hug, and would have said something (he didn't know what exactly)... if it hadn't all gone to hell.

Looking back at the next few seconds, Sherlock should've known that he was coming on too strong, too fast, and furthermore from behind- John was not a touchy person, and he still might not have been over that shock of actually getting to be in relationship with The Sherlock Holmes. And he _was_ soldier- his reflexes were beyond fast.

But what he couldn't have ever foreseen was him ending up on the kitchen floor, clutching his head, and wheezing through brutal kick after kick from... from John himself.

As soon as he had surprised John from behind, John had froze for just a fraction of a second before reaching behind, grabbing Sherlock's torso and _throwing_ him over his shoulder, as if he weighed nothing (kind of true, given how little he ate). With a vicious, sub-sonic voice that was the most dangerous sound Sherlock had ever heard, he growled, "Get off! Right now! I'm not letting you ever touch me again!" And then proceeded to pummel the living daylights out of Sherlock, who was too shocked (and in pain) to move.

John's sole focus seemed to be on killing Sherlock. They both remembered at the same time that there was a knife within two inches of John's reach, and in a panic, Sherlock managed to wheeze out a strangled " _John"._

John froze for the second time in as many seconds, eyes seeming to clear as he finally noticed exactly who he was mutilating. And then his entire face crumpled in horror.

"No, oh no, oh my _holy no..."_

He stumbled back against the counter, taking shaky breaths. He seemed about to bolt from the room, when he remembered that Sherlock had just taken a major beating. Sherlock thought for a moment that he might just freak out and leave, but he practically _saw_ John's doctor side coming out.

John knelt down, and murmured an almost sobbed " _sorry"_ to a stricken Sherlock, before checking for broken bones with the gentlest of touches. In fact, he seemed scared to even touch Sherlock after all that.

Sherlock tried really hard to reply that it was ok, it was all right, he could tell it was not directed towards him, but he was finding it quite difficult to speak at the moment, so all he could manage was a reassuring, if a little pained, smile. He truly was sure John hadn't meant any of that, especially now that they were lovers- it was probably some soldier reflex, though he had caught the " _I'm not letting you touch me again"..._ His heart sank as he thought of what that could possibly mean, but filed it away for a later time. He first had to make sure John didn't think he was taking this to heart. Though it did hurt like hell.

John's fingers were still ghosting over his long body, cataloging the damage and looking sick to his stomach. After a few minutes, he quietly said, "No broken bones or concussion. Your stomach is going to heavily bruise, and you'll be sore for a few days, but no lasting damage."

He helped Sherlock up from the floor, slinging a long arm over his shoulders (Sherlock couldn't help but wince at the irony of it all, even as he relished the touch- a few minutes ago, he had been slung over these same shoulders so violently, and now it was with the utmost care).

He deposited Sherlock on the couch in the living room, and then sank with his head in hands into his own armchair. Neither spoke for many minutes- John because his world had crashed down around him, and Sherlock because it hurt too much.

Finally, when Sherlock was able to take a breath without it feeling like a lorry fell on his midsection, he said in a low voice, "John, it's quite ok. Really. I don't think any less of you, I'm sure you were just reacting on your amazing reflexes."

A moment's silence.

Sherlock continued, for the first time ever unable to read John.

"It was probably all my fault- I shouldn't have sneaked up on you like that. It would surprise anyone."

At that, John looked up- and Sherlock was shocked beyond words to find that John's eyes were glistening.

He inhaled sharply- this was obviously much worse than just reflexes, if it was affecting John so much as to make him cry. He _never_ cried.

John croaked out, "No, Sherlock. Of course it's not your fault. Don't ever say that- I will never forgive you if you say anything bad about yourself again. I've blamed you so many times before, and it was never you, and it never will be you."

"Ok, John."

"NO, IT'S NOT OK!" John leaped up from his chair and came to stand in front of Sherlock, who couldn't help it- he winced.

John, a pretty observant man, did not miss this and immediately retreated, clenching his fists together as he did whenever he was angry. Angry at himself, Sherlock presumed. God, how he wanted to soothe him, and tell him it was alright. He didn't judge John. Stupid reflexes! He growled at his transport. _Why did you have to go flinch and make him feel worse?!_

"God, I- I'm so sorry Sherlock. I'm so, so sorry. This isn't the first time I've beat you up, and none of them were actually your fault."

They both chose to ignore their post-Reichenbach reunion punch; that one was warranted.

"You surprised me from behind, and... " He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. His hands clenched a few times, almost of their own volition, and after a few moments of tension, in which Sherlock was more unsure than he had ever been in his life, John spoke in a quiet, resolved tone.

"Ok, I never wanted to have to tell anyone this, but I think you deserve an explanation after the right arse that I've been to you."

He looked at Sherlock, as if asking for permission to sit next to him on the couch- it broke Sherlock's heart that he felt like he was such a danger to Sherlock that he couldn't sit next to him. He nodded and smiled as reassuringly as he could. John tentatively sat down, almost at the other end of the couch.

Sherlock inwardly sighed- it wasn't fair that they'd just started their relationship and already John was too scared to be close to Sherlock.

John was silent for a bit, and then, just when Sherlock thought he would give up and leave, he spoke softly.

"Alright, just know that whatever I tell you now doesn't excuse me at all- even though I beat you up by accident, I still beat you up, and I understand if you hate me forever."

Sherlock immediately opened his mouth to protest that frankly ridiculous notion, but John shook his head and cut in before he could get in a word. "No- I know you'll say that you will never hate me, or that I'm entitled, or some bullshit like that, but I know that I've messed up so many times in the past, and I always blamed you and put you through so much pain unfairly. Let me take the blame now."

As hard as it was to accept that, Sherlock reluctantly closed his mouth, knowing from past experience when John talked this much he needed to just speak, much like when he was confessing to cheating on Mary.

"But just know that I'm so grateful- you don't know how _grateful_ \- that you will always be my best friend, no matter- no matter how much I hurt you, and I'll be happy to even be just a small part of your life. So happy."

Sherlock flashed him a smile, his heart warming and his throat slightly closing. This was the most open they'd been in _ages_ , and though he _outwardly_ abhorred emotion, he was _inwardly_ so glad for it.

"John, you are my best friend, and much of what you just said to me, I feel towards you twice as much. You are invaluable to me." _As I told you yesterday,_ he thought but didn't voice. Though he hated redundancy, it was always nice to hear John tell him these wonderful things he never thought anyone would say to him.

John grinned that one-sided smile back, but it quickly faded. He drew in a deep breath, then started, hesitantly at first.

"Um...my father was abusive, alcoholic, terrible- when he was there, that is. He would hit me and Harry, and no one could help us because my mom had died of cancer when I was ten. We managed, Harry and I. We just had the usual beatings and fighting, and at least we were together."

Sherlock had deduced this about John in their early days together- though it pained him that John had had a tough childhood and was still so blase about it, as if it was normal. But John never mentioned his family, so neither did Sherlock. It was the least he could do- so he went after his middle name instead.

For John to be mentioning this now did not bode well at all.

"It went further to shit when Harry came out. Actually, when she was caught with one of her string of 'girlfriends'. He... he was always extraordinarily homophobic, and he screamed at her to get out of his house along with her 'fag'- so she did. I was only sixteen, and I was so scared to be left alone with him. She didn't even look back at me, she just left."

That explained his rather terrible relationship with his sister currently.

"I lived with my dad for another year, but..." Here John broke off, looking down at the floor. As if he was evaluating whether to tell Sherlock something. Sherlock didn't push, though he was extremely curious.

"I'm bisexual, Sherlock."

... _No, duh, John, last time I checked, me and you are both males, and thus we agreed to be in homosexual relationship just yesterday..._ Sherlock proceeded to give the most incredulous look at John, who was nervously awaiting a response from Sherlock.

When he saw the look on Sherlock's face, John croaked out, "Yeah, surprise, I _am_ actually gay. Who woulda thunk?"

Sherlock just marveled at John's idiocy. _Coming out_ after _getting together? New low, John, new low. Even for you._

John continued. "I was just getting curious, trying to figure myself out, but I knew what would happen if I came out to him, so I resorted to borrowing gay friends' magazines. He found me out, though."

John's fists clenched.

"He came up from behind me, and I guess he must have seen what I was looking at, because I didn't notice until he had already clouted me on the head. I was dizzy, and too scared to defend myself. He threw punch after punch, kick after kick, until all I could see was the blood dripping down my eyes. He continuously yelled "fag", and "disgusting", and other slurs until I felt like throwing up, both from pain and nausea. I was sure I had at least a concussion, a few broken ribs, and a broken leg. Luckily, he was so drunk that he passed out, and I called 999. I don't know how I survived."

Sherlock's heart rate had dramatically increased as John spoke, and he clenched the armrests of his chair so hard his knuckles turned white. He hadn't known all of this. No, not at all, or that bastard of a father would have been in jail a long time ago. _How had he not noticed this? Why did his John have to go through all that pain?_ He didn't realize that John was looking at him concernedly, albeit with a haunted look, until he asked, "You ok?"

"I should be the one asking you that, John," he almost growled. It was so hard not to just launch himself at John and kiss all the hurt away.

"I'm fine, now at least. I was disgusted with myself for not being able to defend myself against my own father, so I joined the army. I had no money or shelter anyway, thought I might earn the money to go to med school. I've gotten past it. But I guess because you sneaked up on me from behind, some memory was triggered and I just lost it. I really apologize again, Sherlock, I'm so sorry. Everything's always my fault."

John stared at his fist, looking at it as if it was the vilest creature on earth.

"NO, how many times, John, it's not. Though it hurts-" he didn't miss the flash of guilt on John's face- "it makes even more sense now. I shouldn't have come up behind you."

John still didn't look relaxed or forgiven, but his clenched jaw and hands slowly loosened.

And then, as if he suddenly remembered something, he directed a confused look at Sherlock and asked, "Why did you come up behind me anyway? Were you... hugging me?"

Sherlock's face immediately reddened, and he gave an embarrassed shrug, looking anywhere but at John. "I was just so happy and excited that I was finally able to hug and kiss you, like I've wanted to do for years. You looked so incredibly cute, swaying your hips and singing while cooking in the kitchen. I- you were too irresistible."

John's jaw dropped. " _What?!"_

Sherlock started to get the feeling that something was wrong, but he couldn't exactly tell _what._

 _"_ Must I repeat myself? I thought you were cute," he muttered, still embarrassed at having been caught feeling... _sentiment._

"No, I mean... wait, you think I'm... _What?!"_

Sherlock was fully nervous now, feeling like he was missing something fundamental, something _big._

"I- uh, yesterday, we confessed our feelings to each other, or rather I confessed my love for you, and we agreed to partake in a sexual and romantic relationship... you didn't object, so I assumed that I was free to..."

He trailed off, noticing the shock on John's face.

"Sherlock. I wasn't here yesterday. I was in Dorset for a bloody _week_ , remember? Came back just a few hours ago... ringing any bells?"

Bells were ringing, all right. Ringing in Sherlock's ears. A dull roar washed over Sherlock's brain as he put two and two together in a spectacularly slow ten seconds.

And then-

"... _Oh."_

 _John hadn't been there. That's why he didn't answer. I confessed my love and I assumed he was there and I thought it was a yes but he_ WASN'T THERE _and OH MY GOD I JUST TOLD HIM NOW and THIS WASN'T HOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO GO and OH SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT back out Holmes back out RIGHT NOW_

John stared at him, waiting for a response. Sherlock remained quiet, though his thoughts were racing.

"Sherlock. It's getting scary, mate. Say something."

Sherlock blinked back on. "I, uh- I... I mean to say that, um- I like ginger nuts!"

John shot him an incredulous look. Slightly amused, but definitely exasperated.

"Yes, that's it, you misheard, John, you're really getting old, I clearly thought you had come back early, you know how my mind palace is, I get lost it in it, and I was just telling you to bring me those ginger nuts from the bakery, why would I "confess my love for you" or some nonsense like that, I was merely-"

"Sherlock." That amused smile again.

"...they're quite lovely, aren't they, like little nuts, but they taste like ginger

 _"Sherlock."_ John was smiling full force now, and Sherlock didn't know how to get the rambling to stop.

"...and the texture, _what a texture-"_

"Sherlock, I like you too, you big git."

Well, that worked. The word vomit immediately stopped, replaced by complete silence. Sherlock's eyes were glued to John's as he watched the older man shift closer and turn around to face Sherlock. They were mere inches apart, and Sherlock couldn't think just from the proximity.

Or at least he _thought_ he couldn't think until he _really_ couldn't think, because his brain had switched off, because _John Watson was kissing him._

At risk of sounding stupidly sentimental, ( _who cares, you've already made an absolute fool of yourself today),_ Sherlock felt complete. That was it. He and John both melted into the kiss, forgetting all of the years they had lost, all the heartbreak they had put each other through, all of the misunderstandings, and just losing themselves in the other.

After what felt like years in which sparks flew, fireworks boomed, every nerve in his lips spontaneously burst into flames, they broke apart for air.

 _"_ Told you, John. Breathing _is_ boring."

John absorbed that, and then burst out giggling, which set Sherlock's heart on fire, which mad him giggle, and then they were both laughing their guts out. It felt so damn _good_ and he never wanted this feeling to end. _Hopefully, that is possible now with all those pesky misunderstandings out of the way._

After wiping his tears of laughter, John looked at Sherlock with the softest look possible, and Sherlock could feel his heart stutter. He reached out, cupping his aquiline face, and stroked his thumb over one of the bruises there- still guilty, but oh so tender. No one had ever looked at him like that, like he was the most precious thing they had encountered, and he felt honored to be seen that way by John. He also wanted that look saved forever, so he committed it to the wing in his mind palace dedicated to just John, along with the kiss, and that giggle, and- it would need remodeling later.

"I'm so happy, Sherlock. I've wanted you since I met you, but I was just too damn _scared_ of people like my father, so I've been firmly in the closet. I know it's ridiculous, not everyone is like that, but- I almost died that day, and I just _couldn't_ for all these years _._ Anyway, I never thought in a million years you would return the feeling, and while I'm chuffed you do, I can barely comprehend it now."

He softly kissed Sherlock again, who melted again.

Sherlock didn't think he'd ever been this happy. If this was what just a taste of life 'with' John Watson was, he wanted, and could have, the full nine-course meal.

 _We both have scars, and we'll both have to get over them- but we can do it together._

"But also for someone who says they like me how could you not notice that I WAS GONE FOR A BLOODY WEEK! A WEEK, SHERLOCK! What the actual HELL?!"

* * *

A/N: I feel I start all of my stories intending them to be short oneshots centered around one idea, but they always turn into these huge, angsty, emotional-baggage-heavy monsters of a oneshot that grow bigger every minute I spend on it. For example, this one was just supposed to be a cute little fic about Sherlock confessing his love to an absent John, and then some laughing and embarrassment and confessing. But I just kept adding more and more, and the angst started inserting itself- and then I get tired of it and just want it to be done. And also all my stories are about John's past and his flashback tendencies somehow- but that's fine, because I love John- especially a hurt!John and protective!Sherlock.

I do think this one's pretty good, though. I tried to balance out my usual angst with some humor. I did write it in like an hour, so maybe it's not great, but I'd love to know what you all think! I appreciate any words of wisdom. : ) Thanks for reading, and please review!


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